Remedy
by Ice Queen1
Summary: If a single feather from a burned wing could heal a dying angel, what else could parts of Lucifer do? Someone with less than pure intentions believes Lucifer about who and what he is, and it doesn't end well for Lucifer. Lucifer whump.


Author's Note: I am really, _really_ trying to get out of my writing slump. In case you haven't noticed, I tend to like darker themes, and the super...fluffy...feel to 99% of season 3 didn't do much to inspire me and I have been stuck in unimaginative HELL for MONTHS for _everything I have been trying to write_. So I'm trying to get what I can out of my system and pen to paper (so to speak) and see if it can kick start the imagination and drive to finish the last chapter in Damnatio and to actually pick one version of Angelus and (STICK WITH IT). Anyway. Micro-ish fiction to kick start my own self to write something!

* * *

"No, Lucifer, you misunderstand," Mary said conversationally. She swabbed the crook of his arm with cotton ball dabbed in alcohol. "I didn't say I didn't _believe_. Quite the opposite really."

She reached behind her to the rolling tray, plucking an innocuous IV cannula from the array of instruments. "I believe in God. I believe in angels. I even believe in the Devil." She smiled at him, as if it were a private joke between them. "I mean, how could I not, with you right in front of me?"

She slid the needle into the vein in the crook of his elbow with expert precision, holding it there for a moment while she reached for the connecting tubing.

Lucifer couldn't help but fixate on the bright pink injection port and wings. The color seemed so out of place that it struck him as both funny and incredibly depressing but his mind couldn't hold onto the thoughts long enough to matter.

He wanted to ask her what she was doing. He wasn't sick. He tried to work his jaw to tell her so but he'd forgotten how to speak – could imagine the words, but they flitted away with the rest of his thoughts. Like knowing a song but not the lyrics…he tried to force the words, but only managed a faint humming.

"Shhh," she soothed, attaching the tubing. There was a faint pull from the needle as she readjusted it under his skin, a soft click from port and after a moment, he felt liquid ice spread up his arm.

His hand clutched reflexively, nails digging into vinyl covering of the table, and he tried to push off with his feet to roll away from the discomfort, but they had limited range of movement. They caught on something wrapped around his ankles after a few inches.

Mary waited patiently at his bedside, humming quietly to herself as she stroked her thumb over the back of his hand in soothing circles. "This is always the worst part, honey. Waiting for the midazolam to kick in. You'll feel sleepy, but you won't become unconscious. It's not to make it torture. I have only myself, so I can't offer any sort of respiratory aid."

He jerked his hand away from hers and she let it go without argument.

"I'd apologize, Lucifer, except that I'm not truly sorry. I _am_ sorry that it comes to this, and I'm sorry that it has to be you." She paused, considering her next words. "That's not wholly true either. It doesn't _have_ to be you. It could've been any one of your brothers, I suppose."

Her voice was beginning to echo oddly in his ears, as if she was speaking at a great distance away or perhaps underwater. The cold was beginning to spread, and he was only dimly aware of the rest of his body.

"But I really, _really_ wanted it to be you," Mary continued. Her voice was somewhere above his head, and he flinched when he felt her fingers on his cheek, stroking softly. "For one, you're here on Earth, playing human and without your wings. Like a broken bird, fallen from the nest. You were much easier to find than your brothers. Besides…you seem to have an almost _human_ curiosity about things you should probably leave alone."

Her gloved fingers touched his chin, turning his head to the side and he felt her other hand trace the vein that followed the curve of his neck, palpating gently.

Lucifer's heart thudded dangerously in his chest, and when he tried to pull away from her, she gently but firmly held him in place. "Shhh…you're fine."

No, no, _no_ , he _wasn't_ fine. He tried to sit up, completely forgetting about the restraints as they pulled against him.

She leaned over him, touching something near his hand and the liquid ice went from trickle to stream, leaving the deadened feeling in its wake.

He collapsed back against the table, breath coming in quick, rabbit like gasps. The rapid change and return in elevation made spots flash across his vision, and he could feel bile rising in the back of his throat as he tried not to vomit.

"But more importantly…and I need you to understand this, Lucifer…I wanted you because of _who_ you are, not _what_. I could've caught any angel. But your Father and I…we have history."

Her fingers were back at his neck, and this time when she turned his head he couldn't resist.

"You, of all creatures, should understand the adage of 'eye for an eye', Lucifer," Mary said. She held two fingers against his neck, space alongside the jugular vein two inches apart, and he heard her pull the rolling instrument cart over. "Except this time, it's a son for a son."

The colors of the world swum hazily in front of him, running together like a water color in the rain.

"You see, Lucifer," she said, and he felt the distant pinch of metal sliding under his skin once more. "I once had a son too. His name was Noah. My poor baby didn't live very long – died when he was seven. The cancer spread too fast. By the time we knew what he had, the only thing left to do was make him comfortable."

Mary pressed a large rectangle of tape spanning from just under his chin, down to where his neck joined his collarbone and up to just a few inches below his ear.

"I prayed for a miracle. I was a good woman. A devout woman. I went to every mass. Donated to every cause. I spent years abroad in third world countries and disaster areas as a part of Doctors Without Borders, trying to ease the suffering in the world. I prayed every night, believing that God wouldn't allow a boy like Noah to die like that. His own bones turning against him. His blood poison. I told him he was going to a better place."

Ice didn't flood his veins from the new site. Instead, he felt something _pulling_. A rush of heat that superheated the port placed against his neck. She wasn't giving him anything else, she was _taking_ something.

"Most people were surprised I still believed in God, after Noah was gone. But I'd seen God's hand on the world. I still believed. I just saw Him for what He was."

The blurred outline of the woman moved to the side of the table again, but Lucifer had trouble keeping track of her as he fought to keep his eyes from rolling. He shut them briefly, but as soon as he did the overwhelming terror that if he closed them he'd never open them again had them open just as fast.

"A cruel, heartless bully, who did as little to reward the faithful as He did to punish the wicked."

He could hear her rustling around for something, but she was out of his line of sight and he didn't have the energy to move to find her.

Something dark invaded his field of vision, settling over him. He couldn't process complex thoughts – just flitting observations. Warm. Soft. She pushed it under his legs and feet, and it took longer than he would've liked to realize it was a blanket, and she was tucking him in. He hadn't even realized he was shivering violently.

"I came upon your wings quite by accident, you know. I heard rumors. I even met you once or twice, not that you would remember." She didn't sound like she begrudged him that. "Perhaps you and I share a similar sin…one of curiosity. As soon as I saw those wings…" she sighed. "Those _beautiful_ wings, so pure and so white and cast aside like yesterday's garbage. Unfortunately, when you ripped them off, you left a fair amount of your skin on them. DNA. Did you even know that angels have DNA?"

Lucifer was finding it harder to care.

"I brought your wings here. And oh, the things I learned from them, Lucifer…I probably know more about you then _you_ do. I know what you can do. What _I_ can do _with_ you. Parts of you, anyway. Seeing you like this – I wonder if perhaps I understand a little bit more of your Father, too. That perhaps He forsook all His children like He did us. Even His _favorite_ son."

He could feel her hand on his again, except this time there was no latex barrier between them. Her hands were warm and soft and comforting as they traced across his frigid skin.

"I can save them _all_ because of you, Lucifer. No one will have to die like Noah did again. Cancer. Disease. Plagues. All of them gone – because a part of _you_ will be a part of _them_. A touch of the divine here on Earth and in the hearts of men. Because if God won't spare our sons…" she traced a finger across his cheek. The bright lights made his eyes water when he blinked, and she wiped the tear away.

"Why should I spare his?"

* * *

Author's Note: I always had this fascination slash phobia of hospitals since watching the X-Files when I was like 9. And after rewatching the first season of Lucifer when Maze uses Lucifer's feather to heal Amenadiel, I wondered what else could be done with...well, _more_ of him than just a feather and if someone with less nice intentions believed him about who and what he was. I think it's a kind of common sci-fi premise (The Island. Now and Again. Time After Time etc) to use supernatural/super powered creatures as some form of medical advancement (like the belief unicorn horns fix everything), but it always gave me the creeps and what better to give me ideas than something that freaks me out? Anywho. Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to review, drop me a line, feed the muse, or come find me on Tumblr at disappearinginq if you fancy a conversation.


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